


Dawn of the Dead

by K_dAzrael



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Postmodernism, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_dAzrael/pseuds/K_dAzrael
Summary: Armitage rolled his eyes. “What’s so ‘postmodern’ about this place?”“It’s like… it’s this folly in the middle of nowhere, right? And everything in it is fake - plants, store fronts,” he gestured to where they were sitting, “picnic tables. Everything is this weird copy of something else, like — you know what simulacrums are?”“I believe the plural is simulacra. And yes, we’ve all read Baudrillard.”The dead mall au the world absolutely did not need and I wrote anyway. Pretentious art student Kylo visits an empty suburban mall where he meets a bright orange pretzel vendor with a mysterious past, and together they embark on postmodern adventures. Contains existential ennui and jacuzzi bathtubs of dubious cleanliness.





	Dawn of the Dead

Kylo jumped over the ‘caution: broken escalator’ sign and took the motionless steps two at a time, his boots clanging loudly in the still air. He paused at the top and looked over the rail of the second-floor walkway, hefting the camcorder onto his shoulder and panning it to take in the pastel pinks and blues of the tiled floors, the dusty fake plants and empty water features.

Rummaging awkwardly in his bag, Kylo pulled out his vintage dictaphone, pressing the chunky ‘record’ button and watching the tape inside begin to turn. “Here we are,” he said into it. “This is Starkill Mall. Opened 1983. As you can see, it never had any major refurbishments, all the tiles and fixtures you see here are original. You might recognize this mall as the setting of the movie _Wanda’s Wacky Weekend_. Not exactly _The Breakfast Club_ , but I guess it helped pass the time in the summer of 1989.”  

An elderly woman in a Pepto-pink tracksuit came into sight walking at a fast pace along the lower corridor, swinging her knees and elbows high with each step. Her eyes faced forward as she marched along her determined path, and had there been any pedestrians in her way, Kylo doubted it would have stopped her. He watched her turn left past a shuttered shoe store and pass out of sight. “When there’s no more room in hell,” he intoned, “the dead will walk the earth.”

Kylo took his time wandering along the first walkway of the upper level, putting the lens of his camcorder up to the shuttered storefronts to film the darkened interiors. Most were empty, the Styrofoam tiles of their drop ceilings covered with huge patches of black mold from water damage; sprawling, inky shapes like Rorschach blots. A few of the units still contained the remnants of old displays – headless mannequins and signs advertising going-out-of-business sales. In one abandoned gift store he focussed in on what must have been an Easter centrepiece: two giant plush rabbits standing upright, their dusty faces eternally smiling.

“This mall originally had two anchor stores,” Kylo continued to the dictaphone. “A Dillard’s and a J.C. Penney. Both pulled out in the past few years, so as you can see, there’s really not a whole lot left - just a few small businesses, struggling on.” He turned back to the balcony rail and panned the camera over the few storefronts by the main entrance that still had the lights on. One was a nail salon, another a new-agey kind of store that sold crystals, incense, and angel figurines.

“I love this cascading water feature,” Kylo focussed in on the moulded structure between the two defunct escalators. It looked almost like a climbing wall, water trickling down in steps between shelves that held trailing ferns. “It’s amazing that it’s still working. This place is shabby, but still cared for.” He held the shot of a concrete planter that housed a rubber tree and then lifted the camera to show the glass dome high above him. “Being under glass like this, with the humidity — it’s like living inside a terrarium. Like being a specimen in some Victorian hothouse.”        

Stowing the dictaphone, Kylo took the time to get some slow, panning shots of the main courtyard below and down the second floor hallways. All the stores on the second floor were shuttered, so he turned to investigate the spiral staircase heading up to the third floor, the side of which was emblazoned with a sign in blue neon that read ‘food court’ in a quirky cursive script, an arrow pointing upwards flashing off and on. Hitching his equipment bag higher on his aching shoulder, Kylo made his way up the stairs. He almost gasped as he entered the food court: the sun had gone behind some clouds and the hazy light gave the room a grainy, almost sepia quality. He raised his camcorder and swept its gaze across the stepped sections of the seating area, taking in the formica picnic sets in ashy pinks, blues and greys. He zoomed in on the signage, which showed groovy stylized graphics of hamburgers and pizza slices. “Whoa. Aesthetic as fuck!” he said to his dictaphone.

The food vendor units were all darkened, except for one at the far end. Before investigating further, Kylo panned slowly over the remaining signs: “‘Italian Pizza’ he read aloud. “Kind of worrying they had to specify that. ‘Chuck’s Chinese’, bet that was real authentic.” He paused and listened, head cocked to one side. There was the sound of faint music coming from somewhere overhead. He moved closer to one of the pillars and looked up to see an old speaker box. The music came in only intermittently over the background electric drone. He could hear a swell of strings, an echoey trumpet, the flourish of a Hammond organ, and the tempo was slowed down so it had a hollow, mournful quality. He held up his phone to record it, not wanting the extra layer of distortion that the analog dictaphone would give. He wondered where it was coming from — some old tape loop in a forgotten office. Dead music for a dead mall.

Stowing all his equipment except the camcorder, Kylo moved towards the yellow beacon of the one lit-up vendor unit. As he rounded a spray of greyish ferns, the sign finally came into full view: It read ‘Pretzels & Pop’, the ampersand styled as a pretzel. The person standing behind the counter was so still that Kylo thought it might be a mannequin until he came closer and saw the figure blink. It was a man with unearthly, waxen skin and pale eyelashes. He was wearing a hideous uniform of mustard yellow with orange piping. Ginger hair peeked out underneath a paper soda jerk hat with the company name emblazoned across it. Pinned to the front of his apron was a chunky name tag that read ‘Armita’.

“Jesus Christ,” Kylo muttered under his breath.

“Welcome to Pretzels and Pop,” the vendor said in an incongruous British accent. “What can I get you today?” It seemed like he was going for enthusiasm, but any attempts at brightness just rolled off his clipped vowels and disappeared.

Kylo stared, open mouthed, at this utterly impossible person. “Man, you have got to let me film you.”

The vendor’s already upright posture straightened further as he drew himself up in indignation. “Absolutely not. No filming is permitted inside the mall without the express permission of management.”

“There’s no management — the office is abandoned. No security either, unless you count that old guy asleep in the booth by the main entrance. Can’t see him sprinting up two flights of stairs. What are you even doing here?”

“Selling refreshments, what does it look like?”

Kylo laughed. “I had to run up a broken escalator to get here. Who, exactly, is buying ‘refreshments’?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Seriously,” Kylo slapped his hand on the counter and looked around at the huge, empty space, “how long since you had a customer in this place?”

The man blinked at Kylo and pursed his lips. “I don’t see why I should tell you that. I made these pretzels fresh this morning, so there’s no cause for concern.”

Kylo grinned. “You’re amazing, you know? Like what the actual fuck? You look like something out of an Edward Hopper painting... and what kind of name is ‘Armita’, anyway?”

The man scowled. “It’s supposed to say ‘Armitage’. There wasn’t enough space on the badge.”

“Armitage! That’s even crazier. How does someone like you end up here? Did the hand of God pick you up out of some English castle and drop you down in South Texas?”

“English people don’t live in castles, don’t be ridiculous.” Armitage smoothed his hands over his apron. “Are you going to buy a pretzel or a soda pop? Because if not I must draw your attention to the ‘no loitering’ signs.”

“Sure,” Kylo took out his wallet and put down ten bucks. “Give me the one with cinnamon sugar. How about I buy you one, too? You must be due a break sometime, right?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Let me buy you a Coke then. Come hang out with me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t even know your name. Why would I want to ‘hang out’ with you?”

“It’s Kylo. Kylo Ren. I’m an art student. C’mon, I bet it’s pretty lonely up here — you really want to stand silently in an empty room for the rest of the day?”

Armitage looked at Kylo and then over the dim expanse of empty tables and chairs. He huffed a sigh that sounded like resignation and opened the sliding display, grabbing a pretzel with tongs and pulling it onto wax paper on a plastic tray, which he then slapped onto the counter. Kylo switched off his camcorder and set it down on a nearby table, then took the tray and slid into a chair, watching Armitage closely as the latter rang up the purchase and removed his cap and apron. Armitage swung open the hinged panel in the counter and emerged clutching a cold can of root beer and Kylo’s change, which he slapped down on the formica table top before taking the seat opposite. Opening the can with a hiss, Armitage took a sip and then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Kylo tore off a strip of dough and powdered sugar and chewed thoughtfully, watching the other man as he took a long drink and then touched the cold can to his pale forehead. There was a faint indentation from his hatband, but the hair was otherwise neatly parted and gelled.

“Fuck. You’re so orange,” Kylo remarked. “Is that why you got the job — because you matched the uniform?”

“Very amusing,” Armitage replied cooly. “What’s a hipster art student doing in a suburban mall?”

“I’m making a multimedia piece about postmodern spaces.”

“Of course you are,” Armitage rolled his eyes. “What’s so ‘postmodern’ about this place?”

“It’s like… it’s this folly in the middle of nowhere, right? And everything in it is fake - plants, store fronts,” he gestured to where they were sitting, “picnic tables. Everything is this weird copy of something else, like — you know what simulacrums are?”

“I believe the plural is _simulacra_. And yes, we’ve all read Baudrillard.”

Kylo laughed, dusting sugar from his hands. “Have we?”

“You think just because I work in fast food I haven’t had an education?”

“I don’t think anything besides that you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met. Seriously, what’s your story?”

“I don’t care to discuss it.” Armitage sat back with a lordly, dismissive look.

Kylo chewed another piece of pretzel and looked around the food court. The sun came out and haloed Armitage’s head, causing his hair to glow, translucent, then it swiftly passed behind a cloud again, leaving his orange majesty dimmed.

Kylo sighed. “Are you seriously not going to let me film you?”

“I’m seriously not. Would you, if you were wearing this outfit?” Armitage reached across the table and picked up Kylo’s camcorder, fitting his hand through the strap. “God, this thing weighs a ton.”

“Hey! Put it down — that cost me a fortune on Ebay.”

Ignoring the command, Armitage turned the device from side to side, scrutinizing it with a wry, wondering expression. “I mean, congratulations on your commitment to the aesthetic, I suppose, but does anyone even own a VHS player these days?”

“I do!” Kylo insisted, although technically it was his dad’s. However, Han would probably never notice that one piece of junk had gone missing from the back of his overloaded van — and it wasn’t as if they were on speaking terms, anyway.

Armitage held the camera up and looked through the viewfinder. “Put it down,” Kylo told him, only to see the red recording light turn on.

“You might be able to use this. The filmmaker filmed — that’s _postmodern_ , isn’t it?”

Kylo turned his face away, holding up his hand before it with the fingers spread. “I hate being on camera.”

“See, we’re getting somewhere already. You’re performing the role of the reluctant celebrity.”

“Man, you’re a jackass. I’m sorry I ever let you out of your pretzel box.”

Armitage snorted indelicately. “So tell me about this project, Kylo Ren.”

Kylo peeked out from between his fingers. “Why, so you can make fun of it?”

“I’ll only make fun of it if it’s stupid and ill-conceived. Is it stupid?”

“No!” Kylo frowned at him, lowered his hand and tore off another strip of sugared dough. “Look, It’s an evolving concept, ok?”

“Let me guess: it’s all about the hollowness of capitalism and the death of the American Dream.”

“Fuck off!”

“ _You_ fuck off — I work here.”

“It’s like…” Kylo sat back, looking around himself and bobbing one knee. “I thought this would be _fun_ setting out. Kitschy and ironic, you know? But it’s actually just really sad. This place is beautiful in its own way. It’s this space that’s meant to be occupied, meant to be busy, and now it’s just… barren.”

“Interesting. You feel emotionally invested in a bunch of empty shops. Why do you think that is, Kylo?”

Kylo raised his middle finger.

“I’m serious,” Armitage insisted. “Malls are a very American thing, you know — we don’t really have them back home in the Old World. We have shopping centers, of course, but it’s not quite the same thing. Some shopping centers call themselves ‘such-and-such mall’, but it’s an affectation. A copy of something that wasn’t real to begin with.”

Kylo made finger quotes. “ _Simulacrum._ ”

“Ye-es, exactly. And you look like you were born in the 80s — just about. The American mall is in your blood.”

“And you think _I’m_ pretentious?”

“I’m getting into the spirit of the piece.”

Kylo looked around at the vintage signage — if ‘ vintage’ was the right term, since the word implied something that had been carefully preserved, rather than simply forgotten and left to grow dingy. “Walking around this place,” he said, resting his chin on his hand, “I kept thinking about this mall back home in California — I went to the opening when I was a kid. Mall openings used to be a thing, right? Everyone in the area would come and there’d be balloons and some wannabe pop star performing. We drove around for like forty minutes looking for a parking spot. My parents were arguing — mom wanted to come early, dad said ‘yeah, yeah, we’d be there in plenty of time…’” He closed his eyes. “I can remember the smell of the hot leather on the seats, going round and around that lot. Then inside — so many people, so much noise. It was like the circus had come to town. But like — a circus that would stay forever, do you know what I mean?”

“Ah,” said Armitage sagely. “An illusion of permanency, as with so much in life.”

“It was this place you could go when you were a teenager — you know, before you were old enough to go to bars, or coffee houses, or restaurants, before you had that kind of money anyway — and just hang out. God, before cell phones even — you could just say ‘see you at the mall this Saturday’ and sooner or later your friends would show up and sooner or later you’d find them — dipping fries in bright pink milkshakes at a food court like this, or thumbing through the CDs in the record store, or pounding buttons in some flickering arcade. Fuck, I’m being nostalgic, aren’t I? I’m sure it didn’t feel special or idyllic at the time.” Kylo ran his hand back through his hair. “I’m sure I thought life was hard and I had big problems. That’s the weird thing about being a teenger - you’re in a bubble, but you don’t know it yet. You don’t know how small and cosy your world is.”

“That’s probably for the best. You were a nice, healthy, middle-class kid, it seems. Not everyone has it that good.”

“Didn’t you?”

“We’re not talking about me.” The red light went off and Armitage lowered the camera, shaking out his wrist when he had placed it on the table.

Kylo leaned forward. “So just how many pretzels do I have to buy before I unlock your tragic backstory?”

“I’ll have you know my tragic backstory can only be unlocked with copious amounts of gin.”

Kylo grinned. “Well, hey — where’s the nearest bar? Let’s go!”

“My shift doesn’t finish until six pm.”

“You’re kidding me. Who would even know if you left?”

“The automatic system would know! I have to cash-out and enter the figures.”

“Wow, bet that’s a real big job.”

Hux took another sip of his soda. “Anyway, don’t you have a project to finish?”

“I guess,” Kylo chewed his thumb. “I got the main areas, but I want to explore some of the other wings. So can I do that and circle back for you at six?”

“What for?”

“I’ll take you for a drink. Dinner even.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re interesting. And it’s not like I know people around here.”

“Oh, but don’t you have to get back to civilisation before night falls?”

Kylo grinned. “Cute.”

“Me or my remarks?”

“Both.” Kylo sat back, stretching out his long legs and crossing them, boot heels on the tiles. He knew he looked good in tight black jeans and a long-sleeve tee that stretched over his chest and showed the breadth of his shoulders and definition of his arms. “So what do you say, is it a date?”

Armitage pressed his lips into a line as he looked Kylo over, as if to suggest that he did so much against his better judgement. “I’m not making any promises, but like I said, I get off at six.”

*~*~*

Kylo turned down his car stereo and leaned out the open window, shouting at the figure who had just exited through a security door. “HEY!”

Armitage did not turn around, but rather hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and walked at a quicker pace, head down.

Kylo swore and turned the ignition, waiting for the engine to catch before lurching forward and turning in a wide arc to bring himself level with the cracked sidewalk that skirted the wall. He honked the horn, which earned him the sight of Armitage giving a startled little skip.

“You asshole!” he yelled. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“C’mon, get in before I get arrested for kerb-crawling.”

Armitage gave him a suspicious, baleful glare before sighing and making his way to the passenger side.

“Very tasteful,” he remarked as he climbed in, giving the Darth Vader bobblehead stuck to the dash a disdainful flick.

“Hey man, at least I have a car,” Kylo turned the wheel and made a u-turn to head back towards the main exit. “So where’s good to eat around here? I’m starving.”

“Nowhere. There’s a Waffle House about fifteen miles down the highway, otherwise nothing unless you go into the city.”

“Seriously?” Kylo raised his eyebrows. “So what do you live on?”

“Convenience store food, mainly. There’s a vending machine back at the motel if things get really desperate.”

Kylo gave a low whistle.

“Yes, I wouldn’t call it ‘living’, exactly.”

Kylo cruised past rows of dilapidated houses (many with ‘For Sale’ signs staked in the yards) and a closed gas station with long weeds growing up in the gaps in the cracked concrete forecourt, then turned onto what looked like a major road. “What about that?” he asked, pointing towards a flashing sign in the distance. The sign showed a bowling pin standing upright and flashed to an image of it lying on its side surrounded by neon stars.

“That’s a bowling alley,” Hux said, in a tone which implied he thought Kylo was an idiot.

“Yeah. Bet they serve hot dogs, at least - and beer.”

“It’s worth a try,” Armitage said, although the admission seemed to pain him.

“Hey,” Kylo said, glancing over at his passenger. “You look nice out of that uniform.”

Armitage had taken off the hideous orange and yellow shirt and was now wearing a plain white button-down — though he had fastened it all the way up to the throat, making him look a bit like a Mormon missionary. “Who wouldn’t?”

“You look nice in general, is what I meant.” Kylo turned his head again. “I’m hitting on you, Armitage.”

“Yes thank-you, I did notice.”

“Any objections?”

“Not so long as you keep it within the bounds of propriety. You’re not in free-loving California now.”

“Leave room for Jesus, got it.”

“And don’t call me ‘Armitage’ — it’s a god-awful name.”

“What do you go by instead?”

“Hux.”

“Hucks? Is that short for Huckleberry or something?” Kylo teased.

“H-U-X. It’s my surname, if you must know.”

“Suits you — short and no-nonsense. Ok Hux, let’s see if we can scrounge up dinner in this place.”

Kylo swung a right into the bowling alley parking lot and pulled up in the shade of a tree next to red dust-covered pickup. They both climbed out of the car, Hux hitching his bag up onto his shoulder as he stood for a moment, squinting against the light and looking small and bewildered under the big, open sky.

Kylo held the door to let him go first into the building and watched as Hux stood under the air conditioning unit with his eyes closed in ecstasy. Fine strands of his hair escaped from their prison of gel and danced gaily in the artificial breeze.

The bowling alley was low-celinged and lit with cool blue light. There was a long, curved bar and next to it a shoe rental booth in which a bored young man sat perched on a stool, scrolling through his phone. The only other customers were a group of middle-aged latino men in matching sky-blue shirts who occupied the first lane — obviously getting in some practice for their league night — and one tall, weather-beaten white man perched on a red vinyl stool at the bar’s far end, baseball cap pulled low over his brow and one hand loosely curled around the neck of a beer bottle.

Kylo approached the bar and spread his hands on it, looking around until an aproned waitress with faded red hair piled up high on her head emerged from a back room.

“Hey,” he asked, “do you guys serve food?”

“Sure honey,” She produced a laminated menu and slid it onto the bar top. Kylo turned to where Hux still stood under the airflow, face upturned as if receiving a holy revelation, and beckoned him. Hux trudged his way over, clearly annoyed that Kylo had been proven right. He pulled himself up onto the adjoining stool and frowned at the menu as Kylo ordered their drinks and the waitress turned to get them.

“I suppose it’s hard to mess up a burger,” Hux said sulkily, scanning his options.

“You’ve got real high hopes for this situation, don’t you?”

“Look at this,” Hux poked at the lettering under a fine layer of grease. “Side orders: mac ‘n’ cheese. What’s wrong with you people?”

“Who doesn’t like mac ‘n’ cheese?”

“Oh what’ll I have to go with my meal? I know: a smaller, stodgier, blander meal.”

“What’s on the menu where you come from? Side orders of boiled cabbage and dumplings?”

“I’d kill for a good dumpling.”

“You should order some salad,” Kylo remarked to Hux when the waitress returned with their drinks. “After what you told me about the convenience store food, I’m worried you’re going to get scurvy.”

“Bugger off, there’s a slice of lime in my drink.”

They placed their orders and Kylo watched Hux narrow his eyes as he stared at the woman’s name tag. When she turned to sashay into the kitchen he hissed: “Our waitress’ name is _Jolene_.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Having auburn hair and being called Jolene is like… being a meter-maid from Liverpool called Rita.”

“Are you worried she’s going to take your man?”

“Fuck off!”

“Shh!” Kylo hissed, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. He reached into his bag and took out his Nikon F2, snapping a quick candid picture of Hux taking a first deep sip from his drink, focussing the lens to make his face blurry and bring the neon signs behind him into view.

“That’s very annoying you know, how single-minded you are.”

Kylo made a vague sound of agreement and swivelled on his stool to take shots of the dim, empty lanes. He then turned towards the group on the furthest lane, watching the man up to bowl making his slow, graceful approach, the bend of one knee and smooth arc of his arm; a muted thud as the ball released and spun away down the lane, scintillating under the spotlights. When Kylo focussed his camera he could make out the lettering on the back of the blue shirt. “ _Los Gatos Callejeros_ ,” he remarked aloud after snapping the picture. “That’s funny.”

“What is?”

Kylo lowered his camera and turned back to Hux. “Their team name is ‘The Alley Cats’.”

Hux snorted into his drink. “You would need a sense of humor in a place like this.”

Kylo watched him as he wound on his film. “If you hate it so much, why don’t you leave?”

“Money — why do you think?”

“Can’t you be poor and miserable somewhere else?”

“I have a job here.”

“If you can call it that.”

“It’s a tedious thing I do for insufficient pay — how else do you define ‘job’?”

“I mean, you’re obviously educated. What did you used to do back in England?”

“Chartered accountancy.”

Kylo almost choked on a mouthful of beer. “What the fuck, man?”

“What?” Hux stared at him blankly.

“I mean, that’s quite the career change. What’d you do — get caught embezzling company funds?”

“Nothing so daring, I’m afraid.” Hux tipped back his plastic cup and slurped at the last drops hiding among the shards of ice. When Jolene reappeared with their meals Kylo thanked her and ordered Hux another drink, sliding a couple of bills onto the bar for her trouble.

“This is good,” Kylo said through his first bite — a mouthful of succulent beef and tart pickle.

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten,” Hux reluctantly agreed.

Kylo sucked a smear of ketchup off his thumb. “Damn sight better than the vending machine, right?”

They ate in silence — Hux was obviously starving given the way he devoured his burger and stuffed the hot, salty fries into his mouth three at a time. He ate hunched over and wary, like a critter that would hiss and snap if someone threatened to take the plate away.

Kylo set down his half-finished burger and watched with interest as the man at the end of the bar slid off his stool and made his way, with uncertain gait, towards a jukebox set up on the far wall next to a bank of darkened, probably disused payphones. It was a reproduction of a classic Wurlitzer — the kind with the rainbow shifting lights that made it look like a stained-glass window in an art deco cathedral (though the retro illusion was shattered by the fact that the machine played CDs rather than 45s). The man in the baseball cap leaned one arm across it, bending down to closely scrutinize the track names as he flipped through the selection. He fumbled a quarter out of his faded jeans and punched in a letter and number combination. A song started up with the metallic vibrato of slide guitar and a after a few bars a high, wavering female voice kicked in, mourning the fate of someone called Evangeline.

The man by the jukebox ducked his head, eyes falling under the shadow of his cap, and began to sway slowly back and forth in time to the music, lips moving faintly. There was something comical about his clumsy movements, and something inexpressibly sad.

“At least it’s not Dolly Parton,” Hux remarked, starting into his second drink.

Kylo looked at him in alarm. “What’s wrong with Dolly Parton?”

“Well,” Hux gestured towards the back room. “I’m sure our waitress has had enough of that particular artist for one lifetime.”

Kylo nodded, relieved. For a minute there he thought they were going to have a problem.

*~*~*

When they left the bowling alley and rounded the corner to the patch of shade where Kylo had parked the car, Hux surprised Kylo by pushing him up against the gritty brick wall and kissing him. Kylo raised his hands in shock and then wrapped them around Hux’s back, closing his eyes and melting into it, sucking the bitter quinine taste from Hux’s tongue. Hux approached the kiss the same way he had his meal — as if it might get taken away, so he had to hurry and gulp his fill. Kylo didn’t try to slow it down — normally he disliked aggressive kisses, but he could feel Hux trembling, his whole body taut with the effort of restraint.

Hux eventually broke the kiss, sucking the spit from his bottom lip and gazing at Kylo with a fierce, still fearful expression. “I was thinking,” he said. “We could go back to my room, if you want. Unless, of course, you need to head back.”

“I don’t have anywhere special to be.” Kylo smoothed the fabric over Hux’s shoulders where he had rumpled it. “Except here.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” Hux said, pulling away. “We’ll need to stop off at a drug store, however. For _supplies_.”

“Yeah?” Kylo grinned at the implication and followed him to the car. “What kind of supplies?”

“Oh don’t play dumb with me — you know very well what kind.”

Following Hux’s directions, Kylo drove for a few blocks and stopped off at a stunted retail strip. The drug store was sandwiched between a heavily shuttered CA$H 4 GOLD place and a liquor store, its window covered in hand-made sale signs cut from fluorescent orange and yellow card into jagged, exclamatory shapes.

“Won’t be a minute,” Hux said, giving Kylo a look that was almost frightening in its intensity. Kylo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and stared at Hux’s ass as he walked away. In a moment of sudden inspiration, he jumped out of the car and went into the liquor store to buy the closest thing he could find to champagne — a bottle of fizzy pink wine with peaches and raspberries on the label. The man propped up on a stool by the register looked over his mirrored sunglasses to give Kylo a contemptuous look and request his ID.

Kylo returned to the car just as Hux exited the pharmacy with a bulging white paper bag, its top scrunched closed. “Quite a haul,” Kylo remarked when he leaned over to pop the passenger door for him.

Hux gave him the slightly crazed, avid smile again as Kylo backed out of the parking spot. “I think you’ll enjoy the selection.”

A few minutes later Kylo pulled his car into the lot of a motel that lay just off the highway, the mall hulking behind it in the middle-distance. The pink illuminated sign read ‘THE FINAL REST STOP MOTEL’, but the lights had failed behind the word ‘stop’.

Hux directed him to pull in at one of the rooms, which was faced with rock quartz and must have once had a welcoming, cottage-like appearance when it was first built, back in the ‘60s or ‘70s. Two tall, thin figures were standing on the corner of the pavement, smoking cigarettes and treading a restless box step, and when the headlights swept over them they retreated around the corner, startled.

“I wouldn’t leave any of your equipment in the car, if I were you,” Hux said, nodding towards where the figures had disappeared.  

“If management sees you bringing a strange man into your room with a bunch of cameras, they might get ideas.”

“Ha,” Hux said, his peculiar humorless bark. “No one cares what anyone does around here. I could murder you and no-one would say a thing, as long as I tipped the maid for the clean-up.”

“That’s… reassuring.”

Shouldering his equipment bags and locking up, Kylo followed Hux to where he was fighting with the lock. “Hurry, don’t let any mosquitoes in.”

The room Kylo found himself in had a dark blue carpet with a bright pink and yellow zig-zag pattern like bursts of party streamers. The walls and curtains were a dusty pink and there was a strange attempt at opulence — crown moulding that had to be plastic, and beyond the double bed there was a raised platform containing a heart-shaped bathtub in a pastel purple; above it panels of some cheap reflective material.

“Fuck,” said Kylo. “This is… a lot.”

Behind him, Hux was throwing the lock and fastening the chain. “The proprietress is a about a hundred years old and has milk-bottle glasses. I’m not sure that excuses the decor, but it explains it.”

“It doesn’t smell too bad, at least.”

“Believe me, the first night I stayed here was spent crying and scrubbing out all the black mold and accumulated filth. There are things I have seen that cannot be unseen. Crevices that should have remained unpoked.”

“Have you used that bathtub?”

“No, of course not. What could be more depressing than lying in a heart-shaped jacuzzi alone?”

“But you’re not alone now.” Kylo pulled the brown paper bag tantalizingly down the neck of the bottle of sham-pagne. “Plus, I have this.”

“Glamorous,” Hux remarked, crossing to the tub and turning on the faucet. He then moved to what had to be the bathroom and pulled back a rickety folding door. Flicking a switch brought the _tick-tick_ of a florescent light and an avocado-colored sink and toilet set came into view. After some rattling and banging, he reemerged with a bottle of something that he squirted into the running water; thick foam rose up. “Keep an eye on that,” he told Kylo.

“Uh…” Kylo watched Hux disappear back into the bathroom with an enigmatic look and shut the door with a rattle.

Kylo sat on the edge of the bed and checked his recording equipment before stowing everything away into the bag. When the bath looked three-quarters full he got up and turned off the water, then started to undress, pulling off his boots, followed by his long-sleeve t-shirt, and shimmying out of his jeans.

Hux reemerged from the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist. He was pale and dotted with freckles over the rise of his narrow shoulders — he reminded Kylo, oddly, of a toy his young cousin had when they were kids — a doll that had red, combable hair and smelled strongly of plastic and artificial strawberry. The doll had clothes that could be removed with little Velcro tabs, but underneath there was nothing to see; her body blank and generic. Kylo hoped that Hux wasn’t the same way.

Kylo rose to his feet, giving Hux an appreciative, predatory look. “Mmm, you know, the less you have on of that uniform the better I like you.”

Hux was staring back at him and blinking a lot, his lips parted.

“What?” Kylo hooked his fingers in the top of his underwear.

“Well you’re not exactly a _starving_ artist, are you? Not about to lie down and expire in a garret?”

Kylo looked down the length of his own torso. “What, an artist can’t work out?”

Hux ran a hand back through his hair, looking a little bewildered and distracted. Kylo grinned and reached out to catch him by the wrist, pulling him closer. “You can touch. I’m not in a museum.”

“Arrogant git,” Hux said, before greedily running his hands from Kylo’s chest to his navel and back up again. “Fuck, are you real?”

“Yeah, I am.” Kylo smiled and took Hux’s face in his hands, leaning in to kiss him. Hux made a low, desperate sound and surged up against him, hands clenching on Kylo’s shoulders. Kylo closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, feeling Hux’s hands sliding around to caress his shoulder blades and the length of his back, he grunted and shuddered when Hux slipped his hands down the back of his shorts and squeezed Kylo’s ass, sucking hard on his tongue. Kylo made a sound of interruption and pushed him back. “Hey, slow it down a little.”

“Sorry,” Hux looked red in the face. “It’s been a while since I… since there’s been anyone.”

“I can see that. Relax, we can take our time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t speak too soon — you haven’t seen me naked yet.”

Kylo tugged playfully at the edge of the towel. “You got scales under there or something? Big tattoo of your ex’s face on one butt cheek?”

“Ha — no,” Hux passed a hand over his gently curved stomach. “I’m just not a sculpted Adonis.”

“You think I care? C’mere, I bet you’re really cute and pink all over.” Kylo tugged harder at the edge of the towel until Hux slapped his hand away and took a step back.

“How about you put those wandering hands to good use and open the wine?”

“Sure,” Kylo reached over to the nightstand and pulled the bottle out of its brown paper wrapping, fiddling with the plastic mushroom-shaped cork.

“Don’t make any smart remarks about carpet matching the curtains, alright? It’s not funny.”

“What?” Kylo asked, looking up just as Hux dropped the towel and revealed the bright coppery bush and happy trail that had lain hidden beneath. “Oh!” Kylo finally twisted the cork free from the bottle and the loud pop hung in the air like a punch line. He watched as Hux climbed into the bath with one hand curled modestly over his crotch. It was a moment Kylo itched to photograph — it would look like a postmodern version of some classical painting: Botticelli’s Venus on her clamshell; or some pre-raphaelite nymph, red haired and deathly pale.

Hux sank into the water, buttocks and heels squeaking on the floor of the tub as he arranged himself, lying back into one of the curves of the heart. Kylo handed him the bottle and watched him raise it to his lips, one pale, shapely leg emerging from the foam as it was bent up at the knee; now he was pure cheesecake: some GI’s pin-up, or a Rockwell cover for the _Post_.

The room suddenly seemed very quiet - Kylo could hear the rattle of the extractor fan, the rumble of a truck passing on the highway. “Should I put on some music?”

“If you like.”

Kylo extracted his phone from his jeans where they lay in a twist on the floor and set it on the nightstand, scrolling through to find something he thought was right for the mood. He upped the volume and then turned back, stepping out of his underwear and climbing carefully into the tub, trying not to displace too much water. Hux was staring openly at his crotch, one eyebrow raised and his mouth wet and obscene around the end of the wine bottle. Kylo pulled Hux’s foot onto his chest and rubbed the foam up the length of the lean calf muscle, rubbing in slow circles with his fingertips. He grinned as he saw the other man’s pale eyelashes fluttering. “Is this you finally starting to relax?”

Hux held out the bottle and Kylo grabbed it for a swig. “What the hell are we listening to — Muzak?”

“Fuck off, man, it’s vaporwave.”

“What’s that, exactly? Eighties music, but played by hipsters who are being ironic?”

“It’s not supposed to be ironic. I guess it’s kind of sad... nostalgic maybe.”

Hux cocked his head to one side, listening; there was a stripe of foam clinging to his right sideburn. “What makes you think it’s sad?”

Kylo swallowed back the sickly-sweet wine, bubbles stinging his nasal passage. “I think electronica has this inherent melancholy, y’know - because it’s sampling and sound recreation, it’s not an analog instrument being played.”

“Is your project going to have a soundtrack?”

“Yeah. I’ve been using this old dictaphone to record my descriptions, background noise.”

“I’d love to see it, when it’s all finished.”

“I’ll invite you to the showcase.”

“Where do you go to college? Is it far?”

“Nah, not far — just north of Dallas. About a six hour drive.”

“Six hours is bloody far! I could drive from London to Newcastle in that time. That’s practically the length of England.”

Kylo snorted. “You come from a tiny-ass country, then.”

Hux frowned at him and snatched back the bottle. “How come you’re still a student, anyway?”

“Let’s just say it’s not my first shot at grad school.”

“What did you do before?”

“Fucked up, fucked up again. Disowned my family.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Hux looked thoughtful. “I didn’t realise one could do that. I mean, do you have to send them some sort of formal announcement, or do you just stop answering their phone calls?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I didn’t say it was.” Hux cradled the bottle against his chest, gaze wandering across the steam-clouded ceiling. “My father is fairly horrific, I wouldn’t mind disowning him, if I thought he’d let me. What’s yours like?”

“He’s ok. Kind of… unreliable.”

“Ah, so it’s your mother that’s the toxic one?”

“No. My mom is… look it was me, ok? They’re better off without me and I’m better off without their expectations. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sorry. I thought we were exchanging tragic backstories.”

“Yeah well, you haven’t said anything about yours. All I know about you is that you used to be an accountant and your dad’s an asshole.”

“A _first class_ asshole. I mean he called me ‘Armitage’, for a start.”

“Why’d you come to the US?”

“I was in a relationship, or I thought I was. Needless to say, that didn’t work out.”

“Why didn’t you just go back to England?”

“Because I was stony broke.”

“Wouldn’t your family at least—”

“Oh I’ll be damned before I ask my father for plane fare. He’d bloody _love_ that, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Kylo rubbed the arch of his foot until Hux’s brow uncreased. “How’d you get your shitty pretzel job?”

“Craigslist.”

Kylo snorted with laughter and Hux splashed him with a flick of his toes.

“It’s a good job! It pays above minimum wage and leaves me lots of time for reflecting on all my past mistakes.” Hux took a long swallow of the wine and burped discreetly. “If I thought about it deeply enough — which I absolutely refuse to do — I’d have to consider that it might not be a _one-hundred-percent legitimate_ business venture. A very shady man comes by once a week for the takings but he never counts them.”

“You think it’s a front for money laundering?”

“I told you, I don’t think _anything_. I’m perfectly happy in my ignorance.” He held the bottle out to Kylo who shook his head. Hux set the bottle down on the tile step and dipped his hands into the water, then pressed them to his face, giving a long, deep sigh and sinking back.

Kylo hooked Hux’s legs over his own, rubbed at his thighs in long, slow strokes, swirling through the water. “Hey, you want to try the bubbles?”

“I imagine they’re broken — everything is, in this place — but you’re welcome to try.”

Kylo fiddled with a large enamel dial that seemed to be a timer setting and then hit the ‘on’ button. They both jumped when, amazingly, the jets sputtered to life and started churning up the water.

“Dear Lord!” Hux exclaimed.

“Oh yeah,” Kylo shifted so that one of the jets massaged the small of his back, sinking down into the water. “See, it’s not so bad — jacuzzi bath, sparkling wine — you’re living the high life.”

“The view isn’t so bad either,” Hux said, moving forward and clambering on top of Kylo, spreading his legs to kneel either side of Kylo’s thighs. Kylo reached up to steady his hips and Hux wrapped his arms around Kylo’s neck, going in for another kiss. Kylo closed his eyes and luxuriated in the feeling — the warm, effervescent water tickling his skin, Hux’s rough, eager mouth. His dick was half hard in the water, bobbing up to brush against Hux’s soft stomach. He grabbed a handful of Hux’s slender ass and pulled the cheeks apart to introduce his hole to the attentions of a nearby jet. Hux bucked against him and groaned, breaking the kiss.

“I keep having these dreams,” he said, licking his lips. His face was very flushed. “Erotic dreams,” he clarified.

Kylo grinned, thumb rubbing a circle around one candy-pink areola. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“I’m pursuing a man — we’re somewhere crowded, a bar, a street, and I can tell he wants me, but he keeps disappearing. Sometimes I get as far as kissing him, feeling his big dick through his jeans, and a second later he’s gone. Can you believe that? I’m being cock-blocked by my own brain.”

“I’m not going to disappear.”

“No? Are you real, then?”

“Baby, I’m the realest guy you’ll ever meet.”

Hux reached up and slipped his finger into Kylo’s mouth, rubbing it over the  surface of his left incisor and canine, pushing back his top lip. “I like your teeth,” he said. “I hate that bland American smile, everything so shiny-white and perfect. Yours are a little crooked, it gives character.”

Kylo nipped at his fingertip, turned his head to kiss Hux’s palm. “I was a stubborn kid, wouldn’t wear braces.”

“God, I wore those awful things for four years before my mouth was finally forced into proper alignment.”

“The train-track kind?”

“Mmm. I was a supremely ugly teenager: gangly and thin as a rail, mouth full of metal, spots, asthma — the lot.”

“That’s not ugly, that’s just normal.”

“I felt like some kind of hideous grub — something pale and writhing, half-formed.”

Kylo raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s normal.”

“Shut up — you wouldn’t understand. I bet you were a sun-kissed heartthrob.” Hux squeezed Kylo’s left pec, looking both annoyed and turned-on.

Kylo laughed. “Are you kidding? I never left my bedroom except to go to school. I was the weird goth kid everyone whispered about. My parents forced me to go to my uncle’s Christian summer camp when I was fifteen and I set my cabin on fire and ran away.”

“Really? Fucking hell — was anyone inside?”

“No! I’m not a psychopath, what the fuck, Hux?”

“Well I don’t know anything about you, apparently!”

“I was a fucked-up teenger. I’m doing better now — at least I think I am. I have focus and direction and in art school no-one thinks it’s weird if you obsess over stuff.”

“Well if you feel the overwhelming urge to set this room on fire — and frankly I wouldn’t blame you, given the atrocious decor — I hope you can at least warn me first.”

Kylo put his hands on Hux’s narrow, rounded shoulders. “I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

“This isn’t…” Hux frowned. “We sort of got off-track. With the seduction. Maybe this is why the men in my dreams get frustrated and wander off.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I swear. You’re gorgeous. I like hearing you talk.”

“Most people find me abrasive.”

“Me too.”

“I’m a bossy know-it-all apparently. People don’t like being corrected.”

“People tell me I’m moody and overdramatic.”

“Well we’ve gotten the introductions out of the way, at least.” Hux reached down and picked up the wine bottle. He took a deep sip and leaned in, fitting his lips against Kylo’s and pushing the sweet, bubbly liquor into his mouth.

Kylo twisted the knob to open the drain and they remained there, kissing amid the diminishing bubbles until finally the water was shallow and cold. Hux stood up and clambered out of the tub, grabbing his towel and drying himself off. When Kylo stood up Hux rubbed him down briskly and methodically, making him feel like a well-cared-for racehorse. They kissed again, naked skin prickling in the air-conditioned breeze.

“You want to get in bed?” Kylo suggested.

“Yes, but take that disgusting cover off it first — I’ve asked the maid to leave it off, but somehow the hideous thing always reappears, like a cursed doll.”

Kylo did as he was bidden, dragging the shiny polyester cover, cratered with cigarette burns, onto the floor and kicking it into the corner. He then flopped back on top of the bed, stretching out and flexing a little, feeling pleasantly buzzed and warm with anticipation.

Hux located the paper pharmacy bag from among their scattered belongings and tipped its contents out onto the bed, straddling Kylo and settling down on his thighs. Kylo pawed through the collection of items with a wide grin on his face. “Seems like you have big plans for tonight,” he remarked, fanning out the array of condom packets (regular, flavored, Magnum) and turning over the lube bottles (water- and silicone-based, respectively), followed by a few cheap toys (vibrating bullets and pleasure rings) and last, but not least, a dental dam.

“They were having a sale,” Hux replied defensively. “Everything in the ‘intimate accessories’ range was buy-one-get-one-free.”

“And you just couldn’t pass up a bargain?”

“Well, one does like to be prepared for all eventualities.”

“What’s the best-case scenario, in your opinion?”

Hux glanced up at Kylo, then away again. “Well… I mean that is rather putting me on the spot.”

“Ok, point to something you like and we’ll go from there.”

Hux bit his bottom lip and pointed to the dental dam. “If you’re amenable.”

“You want to give or receive?”

“Ah… receive. Unless you think me selfish?”

“Fuck no, I’m been wanting to get my tongue in your ass since I first saw you take off that apron.” Kylo gave Hux’s small, pert buttocks a light slap and a pinch. “On your belly then, let me get down to it.”

Hux scrambled off him and lay down as directed, his head turned to the side and one eye visible through strands of damp hair. He shuffled his legs to spread them wide. Kylo popped the cap on the water-based lubricant and squeezed some out on his index finger, stroking between Hux’s cheeks and watching him gasp and shiver. Kylo had never used a dam before (he’d never had a partner as rigidly insistent on barriers as Hux apparently was), but it seemed straightforward enough — he ripped open the package and laid the thin sheet of latex down. He struggled to hold it taut and in place, lowering his head and going in first with his lips, lightly massaging Hux’s hole with the barest hint of pressure. Hux let out a high-pitched sigh that sounded like helpless relief and Kylo started to work the point of his tongue, pushing to find the opening beneath.

As he worked his mouth he tasted the powdery surface of the barrier and felt the roaring warmth beneath. He thought about how strange it was — he was inside Hux’s body and yet they weren’t even touching skin-to-skin. A perfectly reasonable and sensible precaution to take, of course, yet frustrating, impersonal. He wanted to taste Hux; his clean skin and the heat inside of him.

The foreplay went on a long time — it seemed natural to linger; half-drunk, the fading light outlining the edges of the faded curtains. Hux pillowed his head on his arms and let out soft, regular groans — rolling his shoulders like Kylo was a masseur, working out all his tight knots and kinks.

After opening Hux with his tongue, Kylo discarded the sheet of latex into the nearby trash can and drizzled lube up his middle fingers. Hux rolled onto his back and pulled his thighs to his chest, holding himself open for Kylo’s attentions. Kylo teased him with a single finger and tried out the bullet vibrator; a noisy little thing that made his hand ache with its rapid buzzing. He gripped it tight in his fist and held out one knuckle, brushing it down the length of Hux’s shaft to the base, then over and behind his balls. Hux writhed and cursed from the near over-stimulation, tossing his head on the greying pillow slip. Discarding the angry little bee in his fist, Kylo shook out his left hand and went down on one elbow, working two fingers into Hux now, putting some effort into rubbing his prostate with a crook of his second knuckle.

When he pulled out Hux was lying with his arm over his eyes, panting. Kylo lay back next to him and leaned in to give him some soft, pecking kisses, smiling against his mouth. “Was that good for you?”

Hux pulled his arm away. “I think you know it was, stop fishing for compliments.”

Hux returned the favour by rolling a red-colored condom down over Kylo’s dick and sucking him down in methodical increments, concentration pinching his brows, his mouth stretched wide and shiny with spit. Kylo writhed and cursed — his leg was going numb and tingly where he was lying propped with it beneath him, but he couldn’t bring himself to push Hux off long enough to reposition himself. He tilted his head back and groaned, rubbing the space between Hux’s shoulders and let the rhythmic slide of tightness and heat bring him up in slow spirals of pleasure.

Hux pulled off, wiping his mouth with the heel of his hand. He swallowed and grimaced. “Ugh, artificial cherry.”

“Why’d you pick it then?” Kylo stretched out on the bed and straightened out his numb leg, rotating his foot at the ankle and hissing at the pins and needles.

“I thought it was strawberry!” Hux rolled the condom off Kylo and discarded it, returning to give Kylo’s cock a few affectionate strokes as if returning to a treasured pet he had left alone all day. “This is very nice, by the way.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Should I assume the ‘extra large’ model will be a better fit?”

“Yeah.” Kylo folded his arms behind his head. “Regular kinda pinches. I hate buying Magnums though, it always makes me feel like a douchebag.”

Hux glanced up, quizzical. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I always think the cashier is looking at me like, ‘check out this guy — he thinks he’s got a special snowflake dick, what an asshole’.”

Hux snorted, a dorky kind of sound that must have been genuine amusement. “I think anyone who looks at you can guess you’re packing something well above average.” Hux stroked his dick in slow pulls, alternating hands.

“You a size queen?”

“Me?” Hux looked surprised. “I haven’t had the opportunity to be much of anything, not since my student days, anyway.”

“Hope you’re not too out of practice, ‘cause I really want to get inside you.”

“Well I don’t want to brag, but I think I’m adequately prepared, even for your black-diamond-slope dick.”

“Yeah, you had much practice? Been filling your lonely hole with toys on the long Texas nights?

“None of your business!” Hux slapped Kylo’s pec as he twisted and laughed. “Now lie still and I’ll put on your special big-boy condom. These were expensive so you’d better make it last.”

“Mmm, then you’d better put the cock ring on me too.”

“This is one very demanding and high-maintenance penis.”

“Sure is,” Kylo stretched out and stroked himself as Hux fiddled with the condom packaging. Hux gave an exemplary performance of pinching the tip and fitting the condom in place, rolling it as smoothly down over Kylo’s shaft as if he was a sex ed teacher modelling it on a banana. The cock ring was made of a stretchy, translucent material with a small, rectangular module that controlled the vibration; Hux struggled to liberate it from the overly-involved packaging and then to twist it all the way to the base of Kylo’s cock.  As he watched Hux fiddle with the final placement of the device, brow knitted in intense concentration, Kylo let out a soft breath of laughter.

“What?” Hux demanded, glancing up.

“Nothing. Just thinking about you know… future sex?”

“You mean in the year 2025, when we’re all wearing VR goggles and fucking silicone orifices wired up to our to computers?”

“No… I mean, I was thinking about the past’s version of the future. Like to someone in the 80s it’d be pretty incredible that you can buy all these hi-tech sex gadgets, just sitting out there in the drug store next to the cough syrup and diaper rash cream.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them hi-tech. They’re rather cheap and poorly-constructed.”

“Yeah — that’s always the way with the future. We think it’s gonna be shiny and secure and it never is — things are just as tacky and busted as they’ve ever been.”

“There’s a line for your project.” Hux fiddled with the buttons and set the ring to vibrate. “That doing anything for you?”

“It’s nice. Might do more for you, though.” Kylo leaned up on his elbows and kissed Hux, grabbing one ass cheek and giving it a rough squeeze before slipping two fingers back inside him. “Yeah?” he urged in a low voice.

“Yes — God, fuck me already.”

“How do you want it — want to ride me first, so you can control the pace?”

“No I… I don’t want to be in control. I want…”

“What?”

“You to make me feel, show me how strong you are.”

“Fuck yeah,” Kylo grasped Hux by his waist and rolled him over until he hit the mattress with a huff of breath. Kylo manhandled Hux onto his stomach and grasped him by his hips to pull him up onto his knees. He lubed his cock up generously, wanting to make it comfortable for Hux and also to hear the wet, sucking sounds of their fucking. He teased Hux for a little while with the head of his cock, rubbing slippery circles around the rim and pushing in just barely with the head, letting him feel the light vibrations that were pulsing down his cock in waves from the toy. Hux made those high sounds of pleasure and relief again; what Kylo could see of his face was scrunched up and bright red, his mouth open. Something tugged at the pit of Kylo’s stomach — the wire of arousal winding tighter — he pushed in deeper, pulled Hux onto him. “Yeah?” he urged.

Hux made a wordless, avid sound, turned and hid his face. Kylo rolled his hips, sinking deeper, holding Hux steady. As the rhythm got harder and faster Hux had to brace his hands against the headboard to stop himself sliding forward with each deep, powerful thrust. Kylo built up the pace and then slowed back down, staring at where his dick disappeared into Hux’s body and slipped back out with the smoothness of a piston. He could feel sweat rolling ticklishly down his back, his skin prickling and his dick over-sensitised from the buzzing of the vibrator. Hux was trembling and making deep, pillow-smothered moans.

All of a sudden the vibrations dropped off, becoming maddeningly faint, and then stopped altogether. Kylo swore and pulled out. He tore off the depleted toy and threw it, hearing it ping as it hit the rim of the trash can. Hux turned onto his side and blinked at him, squinting and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

Kylo rolled his head in a circle, rotated each shoulder in turn. “Looks like we’re going to have to go analogue.”

Hux made a soft, hysterical sound and rolled over onto his back, lifting one foot off the bed and rotating it at the ankle. “God, my legs are numb. I feel like I’m in a trance — it must be that god-awful elevator music.”

Much as Kylo had enjoyed the sight of Hux’s quivering ass and pale, freckled back, the view from the front was better. His cheeks were bright red and the flush ran all the way down his neck and chest. His dick was well-shaped with just the slightest curve; uncut, standing out from his body and leaking a trail of precome on the chevron of ginger hair leading down from his navel. Kylo realised he had yet to properly acquaint himself with it: he wrapped his hand around it and gave it an apologetic rub, watching the foreskin glide back and forth over the pearly, glistening tip.

Hux closed his eyes and tilted his head back, groaning as one of his legs twitched out to the side.

“Are you close?”

Hux swallowed and nodded, closed his hand around Kylo’s where it was stroking him; a staying gesture. “Please, I want to come on your cock.”

“Here,” Kylo shuffled forward on the mattress. “Put your legs on my shoulders. Hand me that pillow.”

“I have to sleep on that, you know,” Hux objected as Kylo stuffed the pillow under his hips.

“It’s already covered in your drool, I don’t think a little lube will make a difference.”

“You’re sleeping on it, just so you know.”

“So I’m invited to stay the night? That’s nice.”

“Well, as long as you don’t disgrace yourself with the second half of the performance.”

“Alright pillow princess, come here,” Kylo gripped him behind his knees and pushed him so his ass was tilted up, his thighs spread wide. He stared at Hux’s hole — dilated, shiny with lube — and wished for the restraining pressure of the ring, feeling his cock twitching. He lined up and pushed, cockhead missing its mark and slipping into Hux’s crack.

“Uh,” Kylo frowned in consternation, “a little help?”

Hux grunted and reach down between his own thighs to grasp Kylo’s cock and hold it in place while Kylo flexed his hips; both of them groaning deeply when the stretch increased with the thicker middle and base. Kylo felt the muscles tensing up all along his back as he put the effort into his thrusts — concentrating on establishing a rhythm, pulling out far enough to give Hux the benefit of his length without fumbling or letting the tip slip out. Hux seemed to appreciate it, arching his back and biting his lip.

“Fuck I’m close are you…?” Kylo panted out.

Hux nodded and stroked himself faster, hand flying on his dick. With a twist of his hips he started to come, streaks casting up his belly and chest where he was almost bent double. Kylo slumped down on top of Hux, releasing his legs, which wrapped around Kylo’s waist and held him still while he grunted and gasped, dick pulsing inside the tight, gripping heat of Hux’s body.

They lay in a sweaty, uncomfortable tangle for a few seconds before Kylo slowly pulled out, wincing with oversensitivity at the condom crinkling around his softening dick. He tied it off and disposed of it, then flopped back onto the bed where Hux was still lying with an arm over his eyes, his belly glistening with come. Kylo gathered him into a loose, tentative embrace, still breathing fast and heavy, face overhot. “Good?” he asked.

“Mmm.” He felt Hux nod, heard him swallow. In the mutual quiet that followed, Kylo once again became conscious of the sounds around them — the whirr of insects outside and the muffled imprecations of a heated argument taking place in another room; the rattling air conditioning unit and the patter of a drum machine overlaid by a faded, artificial sax playing something that sounded like a slowed-down, lounge version of ‘Careless Whisper’.

Hux made a grumbling sound and rolled off the bed. Kylo covered his eyes when the blue light of the bathroom went on and he heard water running as Hux, presumably, cleaned up. Kylo sat up and rubbed the sweat off himself with one of the damp, abandoned towels. He turned off the music and tried to put the bedclothes back in some semblance of order. Feeling hot and thirsty, he pulled on his jeans and stuffed his bare feet into his boots.

“You’re going?” Hux asked, looking at him with a hand on the light switch. His expression was forlorn and Kylo felt the strangling sensation of something wrapping around his heart.

“Just to get a drink. You said there was a vending machine?”

“Yeah, in the alcove next to the manager’s office.”

“Cool,” Kylo finger-combed his hair. “You want anything?”

“Root beer.”

“That’s your favourite, huh?”

“The only good American invention, if you want my opinion.” Hux crossed his arms over his chest — Kylo appreciated every part of him down to his soft, cherubically pink dick. “Not quite as good as dandelion and burdock, though.”

“I don’t understand half the things you say.” Kylo leaned in and kissed him. “Don’t fall asleep and lock me out.”

He checked he had a load of change in his pocket and went out into the twilight, striding off towards the rectangular, annex with a sign that said ‘OFFICE’. A tiny, wizened woman with skin the color of ochre and huge, thick glasses was sitting perched on a stool inside. She adjusted her glasses and leaned forward to stare at Kylo, then nodded to herself, seemingly in satisfaction, or as if confirming some suspicion. Kylo ducked into the alcove and slotted a few dollars' worth of coins into the machine, then hurried back to Hux’s room with his purchases. He knocked and Hux opened the door, Kylo kissed him and pressed the cold soda can against his bare chest, making Hux start back and squawk “you arse!”

“You’re welcome.” Kylo kicked the door closed behind him and opened his bottle of Gatorade, drinking it down in long, thirsty gulps. Hux eased himself down onto the bed, sitting up against the headboard. He crossed his legs at the ankles and opened the root beer, sipping at it while glancing at Kylo uncertainly. Kylo felt awkward — he was still loose and blissed-out from the sex, but it still seemed too early for sleep. “So uh, what do you usually do in the evenings?”

Hux lifted one shoulder. “Sometimes I cover myself in insect repellant and go for a walk. Sometimes I read — Maz gives me her old crafting magazines. I’m thinking of taking up crochet.”

“Who’s Maz?”

“The manager.”

“Oh yeah. She gave me the stink-eye when I went near her window.”

“If she had a problem with you she’d have come out and told you so.”

“She’s like four feet tall!”

“She’s been tossing out troublemakers for fifty years. I wouldn’t want to be on her bad side.”

Kylo bent down over his equipment bag and pulled out the dictaphone. “You mind if I check some of this recording?”

“Go ahead.”

Kylo sat down on the side of the bed, almost startling when Hux’s fingers, cold from the soda can, trailed down his naked back. Kylo rewound the tape and played a few snatches, checking the sound levels and what sort of background noises had been captured.

“What’s it going to look like, your project? I mean, will it just be video with a soundtrack?”

Kylo thought for a moment and suddenly an idea came to him, fully resolved. “An installation, I think. I’m going to build an empty store. With the shutters down. People will have to strain to see in, to catch parts of the video and make out the photographs.” he ruffled the back of his hair self-consciously. “I mean, if they let me have the space for that.”

Hux took the dictaphone from his hands and played with the chunky buttons, rewinding it back and hitting play to hear snatches of Kylo’s voice. _“Aesthetic as fuck_.”

Kylo tilted his head. “You want to be on it?”  

“Talking about what?”

“Whatever you want. _Simulacra_.” Kylo took the device and wound it on to a section of blank tape.

Hux put his drink on the nightstand and lay back, folding his arm behind his head to show Kylo a tuft of startlingly red underarm hair. He rubbed his eye with one knuckle. “Alright then… a story about simulacra. Have you ever been to Belfast International Airport — in Northern Ireland?”

“Can’t say I have.” Kylo smiled, watching the tape wheels turn.

“There’s this fake Irish bar—”

“It’s a bar in Ireland — what makes it fake?”

“Well it’s done up like a little country pub — pictures of racehorses on the walls, brasses and fol-de-rols.”

“Whats a fol-de-rol?”

“Same thing as a gee-gaw or a tchotchke — useless tat.”

Kylo laughed. “Okay.”

Hux made an expansive gesture with his free hand. “There’s a stuffed fish above the fireplace. Like you would have, you know. A salmon I think, or maybe a pike — I can’t remember. But it’s all moulded out of plastic - fish, fireplace — all. The beer doesn’t come from real hand-pumps, it’s those awful push-button dispensers. There you have it — a fake Irish pub, in Ireland, playing into some notion tourists might have of a homely, rural past. But wipe-clean, for convenience.”

“Go on professor — what else?”

Hux’s eyes closed, he turned on his side, one hand beneath his cheek. “Did I tell you about the Metrocentre?”

“No. What’s that?”

“The biggest shopping center in Europe, back when it opened. I had a grandmother who lived in Pity Me, you see.”

“She lived where?”

“Pity Me.”

“Is that a place, or like… an emotional state?”

“It’s a village in the North East of England. Near Newcastle.”

“Six hours from London?”

“Exactly,” Hux smiled faintly. “I’d visit her in the summer holidays. Sometimes we’d go to the Metrocentre. It was huge to me — it had a cinema, and a small amusement park with a roller coaster and a swinging pirate ship.”

“Inside the mall?”

“Yes. And there was a section of shops that were like a miniature English village. A sweet shop that sold clove rock and rhubarb and custards — you know, in the big jars, counted out by weight — tea rooms — oh, and a little babbling brook with a water wheel. I think there was even a red old-fashioned phone box. A little England, in England. I loved it. Things only seem fake to adults, you see. Children see magic in the most tawdry things.”

“That’s true. I used to beg my parents to take me to Disneyland, but I don’t think I could stand it there now.”

Hux made a face as if suffering digestive pain. “Crowds and lines and commercialized jollity — awful.”  

Kylo leaned back and stroked his hair. “Yeah, I can’t imagine you there — not in Anaheim, anyway. You’d fry.”

“Sunhats and factor fifty can only do so much.”

“Yeah, really doesn’t seem like you were made for this climate. It’s so strange that you’re here.”

The tape reel came to end and the dictaphone switched off with a clunk. Hux’s eyes opened and he reached out to touch Kylo’s face, running his index finger around the shell of Kylo’s ear where it was poking out from his hair.

“If you must know,” he said quietly, “I was catfished.”

Kylo resisted the urge to repeat this last word back to him incredulously, he just raised his eyebrows and waited to see if Hux would continue.

“I was an idiot. I… he promised me everything would be perfect once I came over here to live with him. He even had a job opportunity lined up. All I had to do was sort the visa, transfer some seed money… well, you get the picture. To be honest, I was happy to get out of England. I don’t have a good relationship with my father — overbearing, could never do anything right in his eyes... you know the old story. I hated my job, I didn’t really have many close friends.” A muscle in Hux’s jaw flexed. “I knew it was too good to be true, but I wanted to believe in the fantasy. I paid off the last of my student loans, broke my lease… then off I went, suitcase and a few grand to my name. Might as well have had a blue raincoat and a box of marmalade fucking sandwiches!”

“What?” Kylo frowned.

“Oh, Paddington Bear. I don’t suppose you have him over here.”

“So the guy didn’t check out?” Kylo prompted.

“Hmm?” Hux seemed lost in his thoughts. “Oh no, he was not ‘as advertised’ in the profile pictures — he was much, much older. Rather uncanny looking, too — deathly pale skin, huge fissure-like scar over his head. And his house was a dump. Real ‘Gray Gardens’ affair - rotting and full of cockroaches and god-knows-what. I couldn’t stay there. I tried to get my money back, but I could see that was no good.”

“Did you go to the police?”

Hux shook his head. “I couldn’t bear to. They would have laughed at me — giving my money to someone I met over the internet. He might as well have been a Nigerian prince! And all because I was stupid and vain enough to believe someone thought I was special.”

Kylo felt his chest clench at that. He stroked Hux’s arm comfortingly. “It’s not your fault — he was a con artist. He took advantage of you.”

“But I made it so laughably easy for him! He said he saw great things in me, that together we would become rich and famous. It was obviously a delusion. I should have listened to my bloody father.”

“Don’t say that. I’m happy you’re here — right here, right now, in this shitty motel room, in the dying remnants of suburbia.”

Hux’s thick, straight eyebrows jerked upwards. “Are you really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Hux looked at him wonderingly. “That’s something, I suppose.”

*~*~*

The next morning they drove the short distance to the mall. Hux had the window down on his side and was wearing a pair of Kylo’s shades that he had found in the glove box.

“You sure you want to do this?” Kylo asked as the pulled into the parking lot. The faded paint lines marked out the unused bays like the neat plots of a military cemetery.

“Go to work? Not especially, but needs must is a hard mistress.”

“You could quit, you know.”

“And run away with you?” Hux sniffed and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“Just seems like there’s nothing keeping you here — you know, except your weird desire to punish yourself for one mistake.”

“I’m not punishing myself, I’m accepting responsibility — perhaps that’s simply beyond your understanding.”

“Don’t pick a fight, man.”

“You’re the one—”

“— Listen, you don’t have to decide now, but if you change your mind, you can come stay with me. There are shitty jobs everywhere, you know?” Kylo took one hand off the wheel and rummaged in his jacket pocket, pulling out a business card with his cell number and email on it.  

Hux took the card with the formal reverence of a Japanese businessman, holding it between finger and thumb at the two bottom corners. “You trust me, just like that? What if I’m a fraudster, or a serial murderer?” Hux glanced over at him. “What if I’m a terrible roommate with disgusting personal habits?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not that last thing. The other two things... I can take my chances.”

“I don’t know,” Hux said unhappily. “It’s rather sudden. My last attempt to be spontaneous was a disaster from which I have yet to recover.”

Kylo reached over and ruffled the hair at the back of his neck. “Ok, how about we take it slower — I can come down next weekend.”

“You want to drive six hours just for another sweaty fuck in a motel room?”

“I want to drive six hours to see _you_ , asshole.” Kylo turned the wheel, pulling around past the main entrance. He slowed to a crawl and they both turned their heads to stare at the sight of the pink-suited mallwalker pulling at the doors, going back and forth along the row and rattling the handles without success.

“That’s strange,” said Hux. “The building is supposed to open at eight.”

Kylo pushed the accelerator, heading towards the side entrance Hux used. When he pulled around the corner they came upon another unexpected sight: a chain of metal barriers had been erected, forming a loose circle around the eastern wing. Beyond this fence there were men in yellow reflective vests and hard hats who were moving, ant-like, between trundling pieces of heavy machinery. In front of the barrier was a small gathering of civilians: a middle-aged white woman in a tie-dye t-shirt with a printed picture of an angel on it; two younger black women wearing white beautician tunics; and an elderly man in a dark blue puffed jacket that said ‘mall security’ in white block letters on the back.  Hux yanked off the sunglasses and braced his hands on the dashboard. “What the _fuck_?”

Kylo pulled up across two empty spaces and Hux got out, leaving his bag behind and breaking into the skipping, comical run Kylo had caught a glimpse of the previous day. He watched Hux approach the group of onlookers, who responded to his questions with angry gesticulations towards the workmen. Hux then approached the barriers and yelled out something at the hard-hatted man who was standing closest to them, marking off paperwork on a clipboard. The man gave him a glassy, dispassionate look and shook his head. There was a brief exchange, but his replies to Hux appeared to be dismissive and he soon walked away, leaving Hux with his fingers clenching the chain-link.

Kylo got out of the car and walked over to the gathering. The new age lady was repeating ‘oh Lord… oh Lord’ to herself and turning the many silver rings she wore on her fingers. Now that he was closer, Kylo could see that the beauticians had ‘Nails by Tonya’ in looped, glittery writing on the breast pockets of their tunics; one of them was smoking a cigarette with a look of resignation, while the other (presumably Tonya) was talking on her phone, one finger to her ear to block out the rumble of engines. She was speaking in frustrated bursts as the person on the other end of the line apparently kept interrupting her. “I know— look _someone_ has to be— I wanna know who’s gonna— I have _bills_ to pay—”

The old security guard looked up at Kylo with imploring, pained eyes from beneath his massive, wiry brows. “Why don’t they tell me?” he asked in a thick, Eastern European accent, as if a passing stranger might know the reason for his tragedy.

“I don’t know,” Kylo said lamely. “We weren’t told anything either.”

Hux gave the fence an angry rattle and turned back, seeming to startle at the sight of Kylo, as if he had forgotten he was there.

“Sorry about your job,” Kylo said.

“That cretin,” Hux jerked his thumb towards the clipboard-carrying worker, bristling with indignation, “won’t listen to a word I say. There’s money and stock still inside, I told him. He says that’s none of his business. He has his orders, apparently.”

Gasps and a long wail went up when there was a sudden shattering sound. One of the excavators had trundled forward, its bucket breaking through the glass frontage of the entrance.

“Man,” said Kylo, frowning. “I was going to take more pictures of that. Light’s way better this time of day.” When Hux gave him a disgusted look he winced. “Sorry.”

Hux approached the younger nail technician and bummed a cigarette. She lit it for him and he took a reedy drag, holding it between his fingers and thumb like a nervous teenager attempting to look cool. He walked back towards Kylo and sat down on a concrete planter that was filled with barren, sandy dirt and a bleached, crumpled soda can. Kylo joined him, putting one hand on Hux’s knee and patting it — he hoped reassuringly.

“Do you know,” Hux said, ashing the cigarette with a shaking hand, “the worst of it is that it’s the first job I was ever really good at. I mean that pretzel you had yesterday — even though it was covered in all that sugar nonsense — it was rather good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Kylo agreed. “Really good.”

“All the training I got was a bloody employee DVD. My predecessor skipped town, apparently. I don’t even have a DVD player — Bogdan let me watch it in his office.”

“You put in way more effort than I would have,” Kylo said, not knowing whether or not Hux would consider this a comfort.

“The oven didn’t work half the time. I got good at repairing it. Once I ran out of frozen dough and I made some from scratch.”

“You did a good job.”

“Damn right I did!” Hux frowned and looked up at the jagged hole in the roof of the entrance, the crumbled concrete and exposed girders. When he had smoked a good portion of his cigarette in silence, he asked. “What’s it like up where you are?”

“Denton? It’s ok. A drier heat than down here.”

Hux ground the cigarette butt underfoot. “Do they have pretzels there?”

“It’s the twenty-first century — they have pretzels _everywhere_.”

Hux’s reply to this remark was lost in the rumble of falling rubble and the rhythmic beep of an earth-mover reversing. Kylo looked at him — pale, sweaty and windblown, but somehow regal perched on his barren concrete seat — and wished he had his camera.  


End file.
